everyone is lonely,
lonely for attention,
lonely for recognition,
hungry for praise,
wanting to be seen as the better one,
the better off,
wanting to be envied,
everyone's wearing a mask
to hide
the fucked up kid inside
who enjoys dancing to the music
of this meat parade.

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About Me

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars, and in the middle, you see the blue center-light pop, and everybody goes ahh..." from On The Road (by Jack Kerouac)